Vulpter was a dead world, its once vast wilderness decimated and reduced to a smoking trash heap. Used for waste dump for millenia, the very air was acrid and deadly to most species. But that had not stopped Adnihilo. After having been banished from his own homeworld for crimes of unspeakable cruelty, the man, The Demon, was forced to try and survive on Vulpter. No doubt, it was meant to be a death sentence. The foolish Kiffar did not plan on Adnihilos's tact for survival. The Dark Side made him stronger, more powerful than ever. He trained his lungs to survive by breathing in the toxic air around him. He adapted so well to breathing it, that breathing mere oxygen was now far deadlier to him than the gases of Vulpter.

It was here that he raised his army. He'd focused his dark energies into a malevolent beacon summoning young Dark Siders in search of great power. One by one, young fools had come to Vulpter trying to locate the source of this Dark Energy, only to find that it belonged to Adnihilos himself. The nearly infallible warrior always came out on top, leaving his victims alive enough to undergo drastic alterations, becoming the Stalkers that made up his army. The first Stalkers had been the strongest, and went in search of other minions to serve their Master. These underlings numbered in the many hundreds of thousands now, mostly former vagrants that went through similar alterations to those of the Stalkers. Adnihilos had become strong, his armies massive. Using long lost knowledge of the Dark Side, he even created ships held together by his Dark Will alone, ships powered by the Force. Now, as he sat on his throne, Adnihilos looked to a nearby Stalker, his strongest servant and bodyguard. He spoke, a voice surprisingly calm and placid.

"We leave soon.... Soon war will be upon us and I need allies. Allies who can cause our enemy to look the other way, whilst we attack from behind... Through my meditations I have found one who can cause grand distractions, indeed. Go and find the one known as Jester."

The Stalker, needing no more information than this, bows to his Master. He disappears in a flash, a blood mist left behind which soon after dissipates. Adnihilos grins, eager to hear Jester's reply.

The Jedi, the Sith, the Jen'Jidai... All so boring with their complex motives. Why can't we just destroy everything and start from scratch?

A single ship lands in the hangar of the Pugnaculum. A Stalker exits the ship, dragging an unconscious body behind him. The man had lost all four of his limbs, and would have died had the lightsaber not cauterized the wounds. The Stalker unceremoniously lifts the man and drops him on a crude operating table in a dark room. Several scraps barely worthy of being called droids emerge, immediately seeing to their duty. The man wakes and panics as he sees the droids approaching. Suddenly quite sober, the man begins to shout idle threats at the droids. After all, what could a limbless man do to harm anyone?

The droids go about their business, paying no mind to the man or his screams as they make various incisions on his abdomen with less than perfectly sharp instruments... In fact, you could describe the surgical tools as being quite dull and jagged. The skin over the man's ribcage is removed completely, a strange spray released to cover the peeled wound which instantly coagulates the blood, allowing the droid surgeons to work without the subject bleeding out. The man screams to the point of making his throat raw as the droids haplessly attach a plate of Cortosis Weave armor directly to his ribcage and covering his abdomen on the front side.

Flipping the man over to expose his back, the droids do a very similar procedure over the man's shoulders, removing skin and attaching plate armor to the scapula on either side. Again they rotate the man, still screaming and tossing his head around, a futile effort to end the pain and suffering. How he could possibly survive this the man did not know.

The horror was far from over, though, and he knew it... The second the droids removed the black mask from its shelf he knew it. A droid straps down the mans torso, and clamps his head in place with a vice. The bright light of a single lamp shines into his eyes, blinding him, as a dull scalpel makes an incision around the edges of his face. The skin is rather crudely ripped straight from his skull. The man, not being able to withstand this one bit, faints from the pain. His left eye is gouged, a small droid arm jamming it's way through the empty hole into the man's brain, implanting a compliance chip. A cybernetic eye is implanted to fill the hole before the black mask is finally fused to the man's skull.

Next, the ventilator of the mask was activated, two long tubes extending downward from the chin of the mask at an angle that went straight under the newly implanted torso armor, piercing their way into the man's lungs. Self-sealing, the tubes continued to extend. They were quite flexible and would not restrict the movement of his head. This would allow the man to breathe in any atmosphere, the ventilator of the mask serving as an oxygen converter. The mask is also fused, via several cables, into the man's spine at the base of the neck.

Prosthetic arms and legs are attached last, but not least, featuring spiked protrusions at the knee and elbow joints. It was far too costly to make such appendages from Cortosis Weave or Phrik, so Adnihilo had created an alloy that could still resist lightsaber damage for a time, depending on the type of crystal powering the blade.

The Stalker who'd brought the man in approaches the subject once the droids have finished with him. He flips a switch on the man's mask, a switch which shorts itself out after activation, preventing deactivation as a means of defeat. The Stalker gazes at the man through his own mask.

"Whom do we serve?"

The red glow of the man's cybernetic eye meets the gaze of the first Stalker.

"Adnihilo.... The Demon King."

The Two Stalkers exit the laboratory.

The Jedi, the Sith, the Jen'Jidai... All so boring with their complex motives. Why can't we just destroy everything and start from scratch?

*The head Stalker sits in contemplation. Soon he would leave to find the one known as Jester... He knew that his Master's plan was now coming to a head, the time was at hand. He was the only one of the Stalkers who served willingly, not having a compliance chip implanted. He remembered being defeated, beheaded, on Hoth years ago. Somehow Adnihilo had gotten to him before his brain completely shut down. Somehow Adnihilo had used the Dark Side along with technology to save him. His Master had promised him that he would have time for vengeance on the ones who had defeated him. Now, though... Now he was being sent to track down some man who would be used as an instrument of chaos. This was a waste of time, the Stalker thought to himself. He would send others to track down this... Jester. His own time would be spent tracking down the ones responsible for his own pain, his own misery. Again disappearing in a cloud of blood mist, the Stalker departs Vulpter.*

We are many, we are strong...
We are expendable, we serve our Master...
All will burn across the Galaxy and we are the sparks to ignite the blaze of Chaos...

Adnihilo sits on his throne. Already the news of the banking clan pyramid on Aargau was spreading. While Adnihilo loved wreaking havoc like this, it didn't bring him one bit of happiness. The operation had been too small for his tastes. He could only hope that soon the Stalkers would locate Jester and return with him. Adnihilo had an offer that the Jester simply could not refuse...

The Jedi, the Sith, the Jen'Jidai... All so boring with their complex motives. Why can't we just destroy everything and start from scratch?

"Yes. You are the Jester, then. My name is Adnihilo, welcome to my Fortress."

Adnihilo summons one of the Stalkers to him. Although they all look fairly similar, Jester recognizes this as the one who had spoken to him on Coruscant. Adnihilo's hand glows, suddenly enveloped in black flame. In one swift move he punches through the Cortosis weave armor that the Stalker is wearing and pulls out his heart. The body of the Stalker drops, quickly picked up and carried off by others.

"Only a few of my Stalkers have the ability to speak. Most lose their vocal chords to ensure they can't speak should they be captured and their compliance chips shut off somehow. Now... on to business?"

The Jedi, the Sith, the Jen'Jidai... All so boring with their complex motives. Why can't we just destroy everything and start from scratch?

"Jester, I have no motives... None so complex as the reactive, jaded Jedi... Or so misplaced as the vengeful Sith. I want to watch it burn... The whole of the Galaxy, I want to watch it collapse. Having noticed your special abilities, I need your help."

Adnihilo approaches Jester, taking a bite out of the heart of the Stalker.

"I have armies, Jester. I have forces that can decimate the Galaxy, but I'd have to get new... recruits... to replace losses from head on battles. I need someone to cause my enemies to look the other way so that when I attack, there will be no opposition."

The Jedi, the Sith, the Jen'Jidai... All so boring with their complex motives. Why can't we just destroy everything and start from scratch?

*As the Strategos flew down to the surface of Vulpter, the ruined fortress swam into view. Falcor Pheonix and his band of crusaders gutted Adnihilo's work. The Fortress held scars from the battle that took place here. Walls were blasted apart. Towers were toppled. When Krysis landed his ship outside and made his way into the fortress on foot, he saw the corpses of uncounted demon stalkers littering the ground. Their bones intertwined with the metallic implants. Krysis wasn't present at the battle, so he didn't know how far their damage was done. The first thing he did was head to the throne room, where the remains of his dark master lay.*

*Adnihilo's throne room. Krysis nelt before his master here many times. It was Adnihilo gave Krysis purpose. Purpose beyond the next battle. Adnihilo took the soldier that was Krysis and transformed him into something greater. The implants that coursed through Krysis's body was of Adnihilo's design. The Dark lord wanted more than a simple mindless stalker in Krysis.*

*Krysis stood before the throne and bowed before it, like so many times in the past.*

My Master. Show me. Show me what I need to know, so that I may bring retribution to our enemies.

*Images thundered through Krysis's head. Memories that weren't his. He saw the final battle of the Dark Lord. The Demon fought against Pheonix and his crusaders alone. The Jedi Arithan blasted out of the fortress to his death. Pheonix's essence seemingly torn apart. The Demon nearly won until the adoptive Pheonix child pulled energy out of nowhere and blasted the Demon into oblivion. The battle was short, and his master had fallen in the end.*

*The images swam back even further. Adnihilo stood in a chamber far below the fortress. Stasis pods lined the walls, each one holding an inert stalker inside, ready to be unleashed.*

*When the vision faded, Krysis smiled. He now had the list of targets, and he now had a means of achieving vengance. The Sith bowed before the throne one last time, and headed down to the dungeons.*

*Krysis stepped into a large chamber, deep beneath the fortress. Hundreds of pods filled the room. The Sith walked among them, taking stock. He counted two hundred completed Stalkers, and also the equipment to make more of them.*

*Krysis smiled as he moved to a control panel. A metal taloned hand keyed in access codes given to him by his master. The pod nearest him hissed as it unsealed, gases flooding out. When the mist settled, a Stalker stepped out and stood before the Sith, awaiting orders.*

You're are invited to an economic conference on Galactic trade laws, to be held at the Chrysander Estate on Cato Neimoidia. Join other captains of industry as they discuss recent galactic events and how they will shape the galaxy in the coming years. This is a formal event, dinner and entertainment will be provided. Please RSVP immediately.

Sincerely,
Ares Chrysander
C.E.O. of Cerberus Corp.::

"Pazaak bores me. I often suspect my opponent of cheating. I prefer predictable games such as galactic economics" -- GO-TO

*Krysis was hands deep in the chest of a deactivated Stalker when the message arrived. Wiping the blood off, he activated the message and listened to it intently three times. Cerberus? What would they want with Krysis? Galactic Trade? Krysis looked over at the dissected Stalker lying on the table. Galactic Trade wasn't his field. Either this was a mistake, or the meeting was about something else. Maybe Cerberus wanted to hire his services? One sentence did stand out. "Join other captains" "discuss recent galactic events" "shape the galaxy". This was more than a simple job offer.*

*Krysis cleaned himself off and took a look in a mirror. He didn't have any formal wear, and he couldn't remove the armor plates that were grafted to his skin. Well... he could, but it would hurt like hell and it'd take forever to get them back on. Instead he grabbed one of Adnihilo's robes. Krysis was a large man, but the robe covered him easily. Krysis pulled the hood over his head and looked himself over again. It would do.